The Lady Vanishes (6 page)

He had an idea now that would keep him up if he didn’t at least start working on it, a version of the disappearing lady, a version that required Regina Burke to be tied up and helpless in front of him.

THE STAGE WAS COMPLETELY DARK
except for a single spotlight overhead. Regina stood trembling in a red negligee, her arms tied in front of her. She could feel every slight movement of his body next to her, stirring the air against her overheated, too-sensitive flesh. He hadn’t blindfolded her, but it didn’t matter; she couldn’t see beyond the range of the spotlight, couldn’t see out into the dark. He was speaking, but not to her.

“Isn’t she beautiful, ladies and gentlemen? She’s my newest assistant.”

Regina squeezed her eyes shut, aghast at the idea that she was tied nearly naked in front of a crowd. Aghast . . . and yet her breasts felt heavy and tight. She pressed her legs together.

He turned to her and trailed a finger along her cheek. “You are so lovely. It’s almost a shame to make you disappear.”

Regina swallowed. She wanted to be alone with him. She wanted him to touch her while she stood there tied and exposed. She looked down and saw that she stood in an old-fashioned steamer trunk. He was going to make her sit inside it, tied and helpless, and make her vanish.

“Please don’t,” she whispered, and his fingers trailed along her lips.

“No?”

She shook her head, feeling like her breasts were begging him, reaching out for him. “Please let me stay.”

He came closer, and she could see the color of his eyes behind his mask. Blue. As blue as the depths of the ocean, dark and mysterious.

He bent to kiss her, but paused before their lips met. His breath smelled of peppermint and something herbal, like rosemary, but the scent of burnt matches remained as well, as if the work that went into his tricks had made a permanent impression.

“I want to take you here, like this,” he told her, and slid two fingers along the satiny straps over her shoulders. The straps fell, exposing the tops of her breasts.

Everything went dark, shifted, and she was tied naked inside the trunk. The lid was open and he was touching her, gently parting her legs until the edges of the trunk dug into her thighs. He slid one finger inside her and she gasped, trying to lift herself up, but he just chuckled and held her down.

“You’ll like this,” he promised, and worked a second finger inside her, stretching her. Her body tightened around his fingers, tightened, and she woke up with a gasp as she came, shuddering, weak morning light from the window brightening the room and making her realize that she was in her bed and that she’d been dreaming.

“God.” She curled up around the sensation and her body clenched as if the fingers were still there, gripping him.

After a moment, Regina groaned and pulled a pillow over her head. She was dreaming about him, about Milton Shaw. Next to her, the cat stirred and tried to stick his nose under her ear. She ignored him, hoping he’d go back to sleep.

She hadn’t had fantasies like this since she was sixteen and her grandmother had made her watch an old Ingrid Bergman movie about a magician. She couldn’t remember the name of it, but she remembered dreaming about being on stage, about someone touching her.

El Greco persisted, purring louder, until Regina groaned and tossed the pillow across the room. Sitting up, she fumbled for her glasses. She yawned and absently ran her hands over the silk tank top she’d worn to bed, feeling her tight nipples. She stroked one of them and eyed her nightstand. She thought maybe . . . maybe . . . she could come again. Dropping her hands, she shuffled into the bathroom. A good bike ride would burn more calories, and maybe get her mind off sex.

Ten minutes later, after brushing her teeth and washing her face, Regina changed into riding gear and strode into the kitchen. The cat followed close on her heels.

Celeste was asleep on the couch, Regina’s iPad in her lap. When they’d gotten back from the restaurant, she’d immediately wanted to show Regina everything there was to know about Milton Shaw. Celeste was apparently obsessed with him and his business partners. They were at the top of her rich husband target list.

Regina had sighed. Chasing after men for their money. Worse, her sister’s favorite targets were three unattached software billionaires who probably preferred German dungeon sex to making love. Celeste clearly hadn’t learned anything from what had happened with their father.

Still, she hadn’t been able to keep from listening as Celeste described the coverage the three men received in business and society news, software magazines, and from the local Boston charity events they attended. Celeste had searched for something about Milton’s childhood, but there was only one brief biography that said he’d grown up in South Boston and that his family had moved to the Mission Hill neighborhood when he was young. Mission Hill was a few blocks from Boston Children’s Hospital. Regina had found that interesting. In her experience, families who moved closer to hospitals usually had sick children.

You’re not interested in Milton Shaw,
she reminded herself with a small curse, shaking her head and making her ponytail bounce.

I need coffee.

The cat yowled.

“All right, all right.” She grabbed his bowl and filled it with crunchies, setting it down in front of him on the tile and scratching behind his ear. His tail flicked from side to side as he ate, reminding her of how Milton Shaw’s fingers had twitched restlessly at his sides.

Shaw the Magician. Milton Shaw.
What kind of crazy billionaire puts on a mask and performs at a children’s hospital every Friday afternoon? Does he just like the attention?
Experience had taught her that people always,
always
, had ulterior motives, and would tell a lie even when the truth was simpler. But it was also clear that he was an excellent magician, even if he did it to get attention. Surely he garnered enough attention as a handsome bachelor billionaire. Women probably tried to stuff themselves in his pockets on an hourly basis.
So why perform for sick kids?

She didn’t know, though it was clear that he didn’t want the public in general knowing about it or Celeste would have found something online. The head nurse, Jackie, might know, but Regina doubted that woman would tell her anything.

She stood and glanced out the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the Charles River; the sky was cloudy, but not dark enough to mean imminent rain. Good news. On rainy cold days, she couldn’t ride as far. Reaching overhead, she snagged a green mug by the handle and set it deftly on the white Corian countertop.

For the past year, her routine on Saturday mornings was always the same. She woke up, had a cup of coffee and a snack, and went for a ride around Boston. She loved the snap of the air on her face, the burn in her muscles as she pushed herself to go farther. Afterward she liked to sit in a different café and read, or go to a pub and have a pint and some fish and chips. She liked the feeling of being part of the hustle and bustle of people’s lives without the drama.

She couldn’t quite imagine Milton Shaw sitting quietly in a café reading. He attracted too much attention; he was too magnetic a presence. Anyone who spent time with him would be drawn into the energy that radiated from him. The idea nearly made her shudder. She didn’t want people looking at her, wondering about her, but she did miss the excitement she’d felt when he’d kissed her last night, the delicious tension that had tingled in her limbs and made heat gather between her legs.

Regina rubbed one foot over the other, and slid a single-serve coffee pod into her machine. She hadn’t felt that attracted to anyone in a long time. Both Celeste and Rose-Lindsey had been suggesting she get out more, date someone she found interesting. Milton Shaw was interesting, but he had ties to the hospital—powerful ties. And women like Celeste pursued him like feral cats after a rat. And he built software for people like that Andrei, people like her father. The cons definitely outweighed the pros here.

She muttered to herself as she added milk to her coffee and carried it into the living room area. Sitting on the end of the couch, next to Celeste’s feet, she set her coffee on the end table and gathered her iPad in her lap.

The cat—finished with his breakfast—jumped up and made himself comfortable, pushing her iPad out of the way. She readjusted, moving him to the side, and pulled up her journal. She’d been keeping it since her father had disappeared and thrown her world into chaos. She’d written about her grandmother’s illness, her mom’s withdrawal into drugs, and the persecution she’d experienced as the daughter of the man who’d stolen so much from so many.

Shortly after his indictment, reporters had started following her around. People cursed her, spat at her when she went into a store. When it became clear that he’d fled the country, the hostility toward her and her family had only gotten worse. She been attacked leaving the courthouse by a man who’d apparently lost everything. He’d repeatedly slapped her on one side of her face and then the other, demanding to know where her father was, until finally the police had dragged him away from her, but not before he’d given her a split lip, a bloody nose, and two black eyes.

She’d been injured before playing field hockey in high school, but no one had ever deliberately hurt her before that day. Absently, she reached up and touched the scar on her upper lip, where she’d had to have three stitches. No, dating Milton Shaw wasn’t worth the risk of being catapulted into the spotlight again.

SATURDAY MORNING,
Milton jogged down the small set of stairs at the front of his brownstone, shrugging on his winter coat in a deft move. He’d intended to go to Harvard Square and practice his sleight of hand with the crowds there, but Roland had just gotten back from D.C. and had called and left a message asking him to come to work instead.

Shane was waiting at the curb as usual, the tailpipe of the limo sending up clouds of smoke, but upon seeing Milton, he stepped out and made his way around the front of the vehicle. He was wrapped in his thick wool coat, but he wasn’t wearing a hat, and his ears were tipped red from the cold.

“My mom would tell you that you’ll catch your death, not wearing a hat in weather like this.”

Shane shrugged. “My ma would say the same.”

Milton grinned. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?”

Shane looked around at the mushy gray snow and gray clouds. “Just beautiful. Roland’s called for you three times. He says you’ve forgotten your cell phone.”

“I haven’t.” Milton produced it from the pocket of his coat. “I’ll talk to him when I get to the office.”

Shane nodded and opened the door in the back.

Milton tapped his fingers restlessly and looked out the window. He’d continued to look into Regina Burke’s background last evening. Everything he’d read and seen of Dr. Burke indicated a woman who admired competence. The journal articles she’d written were well researched and precise, her tone even and clear. She was commended for her work at Harvard University. Her professors had described her as focused, hardworking, but she didn’t seem to have many friends. No Facebook page or any other social media, either, though he’d found her sister, Celeste.

He’d sent Celeste a friend request, and had been surprised and faintly disapproving when she friended him immediately. She didn’t post many photos of her with Regina, only one at a birthday party. She had given him Regina’s number, though, without any hesitation at all. He felt like maybe he should warn Regina about her sister, but thought it would end up being counterproductive.

He hadn’t found anything to give a clue as to what she liked, what she found attractive.
Flowers.
Women liked flowers. He bought flowers all the time. He frowned; it didn’t seem like enough.
Diamonds? Jewelry?
He supposed he could ask Roland. Roland was always giving women gifts. She had been rich before, was probably aware that having a ton of money didn’t mean much.
Does that mean I shouldn’t buy her gifts?

Shane drove the limo with effortless skill, negotiating the narrow streets, avoiding pedestrians, parked cars, and bicyclists with ease. The offices of Accendo were located in a new glass-and-steel tower near Faneuil Hall Marketplace. A pub called the Hairy Lemon was located across the street, along with a Starbucks and a flower shop named Samara. Shane pulled into an empty space in front of the flower shop that was marked as a loading zone. Milton didn’t wait for Shane to get his door.